


Midas is King

by DG137



Series: Gold and Red [1]
Category: Vampire: The Masquerade – Bloodlines (Video Game)
Genre: Character studies, Drabbles, M/M, Multi, not all romance, probably ooc in some places, sometimes nsfw
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-08-06
Updated: 2015-10-06
Packaged: 2018-04-13 05:52:40
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 3,656
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4510296
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DG137/pseuds/DG137
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Gary Golden and M!Toreador that i'm calling Red. A bunch of snippets about their lives and their very strange relationship.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Bullet

**Author's Note:**

> So i'm trying to improve my writing and i'm really digging this pairing right now so I found a bunch of one worded writing prompts and decided, why the hell not? Each drabble should be under about 500 words. May be nsfw in some places, will warn if it is!

Muck and grime covered him from head to toe as he slogged on through the underbelly of the sewers, clutching at his shoulder. Though death had done much to dull the Toreadors nerves it had not done so much so to completely make him immune to pain.

To make a long story short, being shot fucking sucked.

Having to tread through the sewer to deliver something with a bullet still stuck in you, _really_ fucking sucked.

Earlier that evening Lacroix had summoned him up to his office to give him an assignment. With a look of distaste he had slid a sealed envelope across the table to the Toreador.

“Gary is refusing to answer his phone, either he is upset about something or is attempting once again to spite me. Either way I do not have time to waste on such menial tasks as this. Make sure that it is delivered to him tonight; under no circumstances do you open it. Understood?”

The fledgling had understood, he’d understood that once more he was to be errand boy to someone else.

Of course Lacroix had promised compensation, but whatever he was thinking of paying, the fledgling doubted it was worth all the holes in his body and the bullet lodged in his shoulder.

At least now all the shooting was behind him, all that remained was to make the delivery. The warren of course was as “empty” as always.  Whispers caressed the Toreadors ears and feet treaded gently on the stone floor, but no matter where he looked he could see no one. The denizens of the warren remained ever elusive. Wherever they were, they must have been getting quite a laugh at the sight of him. Covered from head to toe in sewer slime, filled with holes and bleeding, he must have been a welcome sight. A toreador pulled down from his pedestal and forced to bring his sorry ass down to their level.

He pushed past the green doors and into Gary’s lair, the candles and little lights doing their best to illuminate what they could.

“Ever heard of knocking, boss?”

There sat the sewer king, peering through what looked like several files of old photos at the table. The Nosferatu regarded him balefully from where he sat, lips twitching up ever so slightly as his eyes took in the Toreadors appearance. “What? Have a rough night? “ Gary laughed, raspy voice grating. “What brings you here then?”

Wincing, the Toreador reached out and dropped the envelope onto the table. “ Lacroix would probably appreciate a call…”

“Oh would he?” The older kindred ignored the envelope and rose out of his seat to circle the fledgling. “Well,” the toreador cried out as sharp pain shot through his shoulder. He jerked away fast, behind him Gary toyed with the bloody remains of the bullet.

“I’ll make sure to give him a call then. Don’t let the door hit you on the way out.”

The Toreador left quickly.


	2. Lesson

 “There’s an old saying Boss _, Knowledge is Power_.” Gary says as he materializes out of thin air by the table. The Toreador had only been in the warren to drop off something to Mitnick, but running into Gary had probably been unavoidable, as much as he’d wanted it. The easiest way to get in and out of the warren led right through Gary’s office after all.

The fledgling lets his hand fall from the door handle and turns to watch the Nosferatu Primogen pace. Ever since their first meeting the Toreador had done his best to keep his temper, to not let Gary get under his skin like before. One would have thought that the elder kindred would appreciate it, but the fledgling was beginning to suspect that all it did was egg him on.

“Knowledge is power,” the other repeated. “I don’t think there’s ever been a truer say, wouldn’t you say,…”

The Toreador body stiffens as Gary says his name. No one has called him his name since he was sired, it’s been Toreador, or Fledgling, Neonate, or even Kid. He’s been called the errand boy, the new blood, ginger, red, but no one has called him by his name. He wasn’t even sure anyone knew what it was.

Gary snaps him out of his reverie, literally snapping at him to get his attention. “Focus boss, it’s rude to start daydreaming when someone is talking to you.” He sighs like he’s talking to a child and opens a folder in front of him, flipping through it.

“Let’s see, you would have been twenty-five this April, your family’s from Washington but you came down to California to study…Ah! Dancing, figures. You always did strike me as a dancer boss, what with those legs of yours.” Gary casts a look his way that makes the Toreadors still heart jump.  Suddenly he feels the urge to put on more cloths, like he’s practically naked in front of the other and he needs to cover up.

“So you did a background check on me, why?”

“Tut tut, I’m not done yet Boss.” Gary turns back to his file and continues to read. He’s got everything on him, from his full name to where his parents live to his old social security number. _Fuck, he’s even got some of his old internet history._ “I see you were into brunettes,” Gary laughs and it’s a horrible sound, like someone grinding rocks together.

“What’s the point of this?” The fledgling asks, “What do you want?” That gets Gary’s attention, the nosferatu regards him with what looks like an almost kind smile.

“Why, only to teach you a lesson, Boss,” His eyes burn into the toreador from across the table. “You’ve made quite a name for yourself. Done things no one ever thought possible of you, even me. But there’s more than one kind of power.” He taps his claws against the folder. “Make sure you don’t ever forget that, **_Boss_**.”


	3. Wind

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I sort of ran into a wall with this one

It's been hot lately, Red enjoys a nice breezy night.

 _“Oh,”_ the fledgling nearly moans in relief as the wind begins to pick up. The last few nights have been practically boiling, but tonight, tonight it feels like the air itself is trying to suffocate him. And he doesn’t even breathe.

But that’s California weather for you, and it seems that this summer is bent on making even the undead like him suffer. Lack of pumping blood or body temperature be damned.

He long since traded out his usual, more formal attire for something with fewer sleeves. The tank top is old and has “Seattle Mariners” blazoned across the front of it, it but at least it’s doing the trick. Sadly the sudden change from Kine to kindred errand boy hasn’t left with many clothes. Unfortunately leaving him really with only the tank top and a pair of equally old shorts as casual wear, he’s sure his sire is crying somewhere in the afterlife.

At some point though he’s going to have to take all the money he’s gotten from running around shooting things to actually buy another shirt.

But not tonight, no tonight it is way too hot and all the toreador wants to do is try and relax.

He’s been running around like crazy to appease everyone and their mother lately. _Go here, get this, do the thing!_ Honestly, wasn’t the vampire lifestyle supposed to be more romantic than this?

Oh well, the toreador shoves aside his gripes and keeps walking, at least the wind is picking up.


	4. Resurface

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Time-skip!

The night shakes from a thunderous explosion as black smoke disappears and melds with the sky. Lacroix’s office has exploded, the Prince is dead, and a fledgling Toreador flips Nines Rodriguez the bird as he walks away from it all.

Rumors fly, people call for the fledglings head. Chaos erupts and the vacuum left by Lacroix’s demise threatens to swallow them all. The Anarchs revolt against the wavering hold of the Camarilla. The Tremere Primogen is elected to office and the blood hunt is withdrawn.

Ten years pass by in a medley of peace and chaos. The Sabbat take what opportunity they can to try and crawl their way back into LA, forcing both sides to team up to kick them out. The Camarilla and the Anarchs may have no love for one another, but their hatred for the shovel heads outweighs that. It helps the peace as well that Strauss is no Lacroix, and while he believes that the Anarchs should fall under their rule he’s not nearly as demeaning or demanding of them. Unlike Lacroix he’s willing to compromise and often asks to speak with Nines.

And so the city swings back and forth between uneasy peace and Anarch revolts, at least the city is alive again, certainly more than the stagnation that had befallen it in Lacroix ruling.

And through all of it the Nosferatu remain ever watchful, they are the eyes and ears in the dark. And in the chaos they grow stronger than before.

So when a certain fledgling returns to the city after almost a decade they’re the first to know. Gary stares down at the picture to confirm that it is indeed the Toreador and as he takes in the details his smile grows. They tracked him up until he’d crossed the Canadian border and then lost him, Gary had written the fledgling off dead two years after that.

The Toreador doesn’t waste time; he heads straight to the Chantry and to Strauss and comes out with his head still on his shoulders and a full pardon.  There’s not really enough evidence to accuse him anyway, the box was always closed but passed through so many hands who knows who could have put the bomb in there.

None the less, Gary does receive a request from the new Prince to keep an eye on the Toreador, just in case… He nearly laughs when he receives the request, as if he wasn’t already watching the red heads every move.

The Toreador settles into an apartment in downtown LA again and starts running freelance work. Gary watches from the shadows, a thousand eyes trained on the fledgling taking in every movement.

Wherever the fledgling goes he puts something in motion, oho…Gary can’t wait.


	5. Winter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And now a time skip back

Growing up in Washington meant sometimes having to suffer through harsh winters. Living in California was supposed to be a means of escape, no more harsh weather for him! And then everything had taken a turn for the undead and well, after that sunbathing wasn’t even an option anymore.

The idea of going to Canada had been a joke honestly, but after stabbing Lacroix in the throat, only then to find out that someone had put a bomb in his office…Canada seemed like  a pretty good option actually!

_Oh how wrong he was…_

Actually there were parts of Canada that were nice, Vancouver for all its’ mounting tension was actually rather peaceful. Plenty of Kine circulated in and out of the city on vacation which meant that there was always a variety of vitae to feed on. There were clubs and malls and all sorts of art exhibits. Toreador weren’t exactly the most favored clan in the city but so long as he kept his nose clean and his head out of trouble no one bothered him.

Even the Garou, terrifying as they were, left him alone. Yes, there were werewolves in the city and that was something that even after five years he still was trying to get used to.

_Still better than Montreal though…_

That was no exaggeration either, he’d escaped to Montreal in hopes of hiding away from the Camarilla and in all honestly he had succeeded…by walking right into the Sabbat.  He’d only stayed in Montreal for six months before getting the hell out. On top of all the crazy ass philosophical Sabbat that ran the place, Montreal had even shittier winters than Washington.

The next couple of years had been spent backpacking across Canada, living a hobo. Not really because of lack of funds, though he was a bit strapped for cash, but because it felt safer. Half the time people just thought he was pander.All he had to do was dye his hair black and trade out his signature clothes for something a bit more old and faded and boom! One pander nobody!

Once to Vancouver he did trade up for something with a few less holes in it, though he did keep his black hair. The place was still Camarilla run, even if it did try to keep out of politics.

_At least the winters were nicer…_

Even on the coldest days it rarely got anywhere near to what it had in his home town, and even in winter there was so much stuff to do. He’d even managed to keep up going to the clubs and socializing a bit.

 _“You can just call me Red,”_ he told them and they all laughed and asked if he was born a ginger. But the name stuck, the people were nice, and the winters weren’t that bad. He’d miss Vancouver when it was finally time to leave. He was definitely going to have to come back someday.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Had to break out the old Vancouver book for this one XD


	6. Uncle

He’s been back in California a little over two weeks when he runs into Gary at one of Strauss’s monthly meetings. At the time he’s sitting a few rows from the back, listening to Strauss greet some people when the Nosferatu just materializes a few seats from him.  At first it seems like Gary is just going to ignore him, which Red is fine with, but then…

“Been awhile Boss,” halfway through Gary starts whispering to him. They’re so far back and Gary is being so quiet that no one seems to notice, especially not Strauss.

“Mr. Golden.” Red returns and keeps looking forward, out of the corner of his eye he can see Gary’s lip twitch upward.

“My, how formal of you. It’s just Gary, boss, no need for all that extra flair it just makes me feel older than I already am.” The Nosferatu’s chuckle is a low and gravely thing, it reminds him of stones and water. Of dark caves beneath the earth and corpses lined up for dinner. Inwardly he shakes himself, _get a grip!_

“Alright then, Gary.”  Across the seats the Nosferatu emits a pleased purr and then they both fall silent again.

 _‘Maybe if I just don’t do or say anything else he’ll leave me alone_ ’ Red thinks, unfortunately his luck has never been that good and Gary doesn’t wait long before starting up again.

Gary sighs, “I’ll admit I’m a bit disappointed in you though.” Confused his brow furrows and he glances to the Primogen, wondering what the hell he’s talking about. Gary is watching Strauss with an almost bored expression on his face, purposefully not looking at him.

“And what exactly did I do?” The Toreador has no idea what Gary wants or what he’s getting at.

“Two weeks and you haven’t been by at all, I thought we were closer than that Boss,” he clicks his teeth, disappointed indeed.

“I-“

“Oh I get it, you’ve been very busy so I won’t hold a grudge _. Just this once…_ ”

“Uh…” God what is happening right now? It feels like Gary is guiding him along to something, pulling him with strings. The meeting comes to an end and Gary stands, towering over him.

“Come by sometime Boss, we’ll play a few rounds of cards. You like cards Boss?” He nods, Gary probably wouldn’t take no for an answer anyways. “Good, come by sometime next week.” And then he’s gone and the strings guiding Red disappear.

A week later they end up playing poker in the warren. The place smells like corpses, the cards are water damaged, and Red is certain Gary cheats.

“Who would have thought you’d actually come into the sewers to play cards with me, getting lonely boss?” Gary jabs.

“You invited me, what does that say?” Red jabs back and shows his cards.

Gary only grins and shows his, Royal flush. “I don’t know Boss, what does it say?” Red has no answer and loses every round after. 


	7. Happiness

A year passes in a whirlwind of blood and smoke and at the end of it all he’s still standing and in one piece more or less. Red survives through Anarch revolts, Sabbat resurgence, odd jobs, hunters, Werewolves, and whatever the fuck Gary feels like throwing his way. Every time he comes back and the denizens of L.A accept him as one of their own in time.

Red finds his rhythm, taps it out and sways in time along with the city as he goes through his nights. After several months of socializing at one of the clubs he makes friends with Gabrielle, a kine and a dancer. It’s Gabrielle that rekindles his love for the art, something he’d lost since becoming an errand boy.  

He recommends Red to a local dance studio that’s looking for a choreographer and for the first time in years he dances. It’s an almost out of body experience, for so long he’s reserved this kind of movement for fighting but once he tries it comes back. His body remembers and Red dances, they hire him a few nights later and he starts the very next night as the new choreographer.

The group is a nice size and the classes are at night, it doesn’t pay much but it’s a bit of extra cash in his pocket and a chance to work on his craft again.

Gabrielle comes by every so often to see what they’re working on and pester Red to go out for drinks. He’s got good jokes and a soothing personality and whether he knows it or not he has Red’s eternal gratitude. It’s Gabe that gets him integrated back among the living and for the first time in so long Red feels alive. Like he’s more than just walking corpse and there’s more to his unlife than just shooting other vampires and odd jobs. The weight of impending gehenna and kindred politics falls off his shoulders the second he takes his stance.

Their first performance is a week to the day that he came back and when he takes the stage he feels lighter than air. He doesn’t think about the jobs Strauss is going to have lined up for him. He doesn’t think about the Tense look Nines gave him the other day. He doesn’t think about the rumors of the Sabbat sending a Lasombra.

He just dances and is alive once more

It’s a gift that he’s sure he’ll never be able to pay back, but he’ll be damned if he doesn’t try.


	8. Bunting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A Bunting is a colorful bird of the Finch family.

_“That kid has a show in a few weeks,”_  

Bertram tells him one evening while passing through, dropping the information about the Toreadors’ show and then walking off to get back to doing whatever he was doing before he ran into Gary. 

“Red” as everyone has taking to calling him, has been quite active as of late. Running all over, doing odd jobs for Strauss, but more than that, he’s been socializing with Kine again. More and more Gary’s eyes and ears have told him that the Toreador’s been coming out of his shell, making friends, even getting a job as a dancer of all things.  Yes things are going quiet well for “Red”, and it practically makes Gary’s skin _itch_ in irritation.

And now he’s holding a pretty little dance recital. _Bleh!_

Just like a Toreador, to pretend to be something they’re not, to walk about with Kine as if they can hide what they really are with glitter and pretty words. No matter the money they dump on useless fashion or the time they waste flirting with mortals it changes nothing.

  _They are dead things_ , and they should act like it. 

And while he may not be a butcher hearing of Reds’ little upcoming recital makes his fingers twitch. A shame really, and here some part of him had begun to believe that perhaps there was actually some reason to the Toreador. _Some sense in that head of his_.

He still decides to go of course, clearing out his schedule for that night so he can slink off to the small little performance hall that they’ve rented.  He’ll let this little performance prove him right, let it rightfully fuel his ire for when he breaks the Toreadors face.

And if his stench makes some of the audience sick well! All the better!

The lights dim and the curtains pull back, ambient music so sweetly fluttering out of the speakers marks the dancers entrance. They’re all dressed in black pants with brightly colored ribbons, adorned with glittering paint, and Gary is momentarily reminded of a flock of birds.

A flash of red hair draws his eye, the Toreador stands out even in the brightly colored crowd, bare chested and bare foot, face painted with gold and red. He cradles one of the girls closely, their bodies writhing slowly in time with the music before setting her free. The sensuous simultaneous curling and unfurling of arms and hands transforms the group into one single breathing organism. They come together, a mesmerizing leviathan, only to break a part and splinter into individuals at the music’s cue.

 

                                                                     

Gary doesn’t realize when he stops judging and actually starts watching. They’re all graceful, but the Toreador is a flame, is emotion given form. He jumps as if he’s weightless and sticks his landings with such ease, such joy! No, it’s something more akin to rapture. Gary’s never seen him, never seen anyone look so alive.  

It’s over almost too soon with him snapping to his senses as the crowd applauds. On stage Red bows and then straightens, eyes scanning over the audience. Gary waits until they pass over him before showing himself out.


End file.
